He found that he was not alone; the entire ship was in shock. There was not one who could remember, or imagine, Sisu without her. She was Sisu. Like the undying fire that moved the ship, Grandmother had been an unfailing force, dynamic, indispensable, basic. Now suddenly she was gone.
She had taken her nap as usual, grumbling because Woolamurra's day fitted their schedule so poorly—typical fraki inefficiency. But she had gone to sleep with iron discipline that had adapted itself to a hundred time schedules.
When her daughter-in-law went to wake her, she could not be waked.
Her bedside scratch pad held many notes: Speak to Son about this. Tell Tora to do that. Jack up the C.E. about temperature control. Go over banquet menus with Athena. Rhoda Krausa tore out the page, put it away for reference, straightened her, then ordered the Deck Master to notify her husband.
The Captain was not at dinner. Grandmother's couch had been removed; the Chief Officer sat where it had been. In the Captain's absence the Chief Officer signalled the Chief Engineer; he offered the prayer for the dead, she gave the responses. Then they ate in silence. No funeral would be held until Gathering.
The Chief Officer stood up presently. "The Captain wishes to announce," she said quietly, "that he thanks those who attempted to call on him. He will be available tomorrow." She paused. " 'The atoms come out of space and to space they return. The spirit of Sisu goes on.' "
Thorby suddenly no longer felt lost.
CHAPTER 14
The Great Gathering was even more than Thorby had imagined. Mile after mile of ships, more than eight hundred bulky Free Traders arranged in concentric ranks around a circus four miles across . . . Sisu in the innermost circle—which seemed to please Thorby's Mother—then more ships than Thorby knew existed: Kraken, Deimos, James B. Quinn, Firefly, Bon Marché, Dom Pedro, Cee Squared, Omega, El Nido—Thorby resolved to see how Mata was doing- Saint Christopher, Vega, Vega Prime, Galactic Banker, Romany Lass . . . Thorby made note to get a berthing chart . . . Saturn, Chiang, Country Store, Joseph Smith, Aloha . . .
There were too many. If he visited ten ships a day, he might see most of them. But there was too much to do and see; Thorby gave up the notion.
Inside the circle was a great temporary stadium, larger than the New Amphitheatre at Jubbulpore. Here elections would be held, funerals and weddings, athletic contests, entertainments, concerts—Thorby recalled that Spirit of Sisu would be performed there and trembled with stage fright.
Between stadium and ships was a midway—booths, rides, games, exhibits educational and entertaining, one-man pitches, dance halls that never closed, displays of engineering gadgets, fortunetellers, gambling for prizes and cash, open-air bars, soft drink counters offering anything from berry juices of the Pleiades worlds to a brown brew certified to be the ancient, authentic Terran Coca-Cola as licensed for bottling on Hekate.
When he saw this maelstrom Thorby felt that he had wandered into Joy Street—bigger, brighter, and seven times busier than Joy Street with the fleet in. This was the fraki's chance to turn a fairly honest credit while making suckers of the shrewdest businessmen in the Galaxy; this was the day, with the lid off and the Trader without his guards up—they'd sell you your own hat if you laid it on the counter.
Fritz took Thorby dirtside to keep him out of trouble, although Fritz's sophistication was hardly complete, since he had seen just one Great Gathering. The Chief Officer lectured the young people before granting hit-dirt, reminding them that Sisu had a reputation for proper behavior, and then issued each a hundred credits with a warning that it must last throughout the Gathering.
Fritz advised Thorby to cache most of it. "When we go broke, we can sweet-talk Father out of pocket money. But it's not smart to take it all."
Thorby agreed. He was not surprised when he felt the touch of a pickpocket; he grabbed a wrist to find out what he had landed.
First he recovered his wallet. Then he looked at the thief. He was a dirty-faced young fraki who reminded Thorby poignantly of Ziggie, except that this kid had two hands. "Better luck next time," he consoled him. "You don't have the touch yet."
The kid seemed about to cry. Thorby started to turn him loose, then said, "Fritz, check your wallet."
Fritz did so, it was gone. "Well, I'll be—"
"Hand it over, kid."
"I didn't take it! You let me go!"
"Cough up . . . before I unscrew your skull."
The kid surrendered Fritz's wallet; Thorby turned him loose. Fritz said, "Why did you do that? I was trying to spot a cop."
"That's why."
"Huh? Talk sense."
"I tried to learn that profession once. It's not easy."
"You? A poor joke, Thorby."
"Remember me? The ex-fraki, the beggar's boy? That clumsy attempt to equalize the wealth made me homesick. Fritz, where I come from, a pickpocket has status. I was merely a beggar."
"Don't let Mother hear that."
"I shan't. But I am what I am and I know what I was and I don't intend to forget. I never learned the pickpocket art, but I was a good beggar, I was taught by the best. My Pop. Baslim the Cripple. I'm not ashamed of him and all the Laws of Sisu can't make me."
"I did not intend to make you ashamed," Fritz said quietly.
They walked on, savoring the crowd and the fun. Presently Thorby said, "Shall we try that wheel? I've spotted the gimmick."
Fritz shook his head. "Look at those so-called prizes."
"Okay. I was interested in how it was rigged."
"Thorby—"
"Yeah? Why the solemn phiz?"
"You know who Baslim the Cripple really was?"
Thorby considered it. "He was my Pop. If he had wanted me to know anything else, he would have told me."
"Mmm . . . I suppose so."
"But you know?"
"Some."
"Uh, I am curious about one thing. What was the debt that made Grandmother willing to adopt me?"
"Uh, 'I have said enough.' "
"You know best."
"Oh, confound it, the rest of the People know! It's bound to come up at this Gathering."
"Don't let me talk you into anything, Fritz."
"Well . . . look, Baslim wasn't always a beggar."
"So I long since figured out."
"What he was is not for me to say. A lot of People kept his secret for years; nobody has told me that it is all right to talk. But one fact is no secret among the People . . . and you're one of the People. A long time ago, Baslim saved a whole Family. The People have never forgotten it. The Hansea, it was . . . the New Hansea is sitting right over there. The one with the shield painted on her. I can't tell you more, because a taboo was placed on it—the thing was so shameful that we never talk about it. I have said enough. But you could go over to the New Hansea and ask to look through her old logs. If you identified yourself—who you are in relation to Baslim—they couldn't refuse. Though the Chief Officer might go to her cabin afterwards and have weeping hysterics."
"Hmm . . . I don't want to know badly enough to make a lady cry. Fritz? Let's try this ride." So they did—and after speeds in excess of light and accelerations up to one hundred gravities, Thorby found a roller coaster too exciting. He almost lost his lunch.
A Great Gathering, although a time of fun and renewed friendships, has its serious purposes. In addition to funerals, memorial services for lost ships, weddings, and much transferring of young females, there is also business affecting the whole People and, most important, the paramount matter of buying ships.
Hekate has the finest shipyards in the explored Galaxy. Men and women have children; ships spawn, too. Sisu was gravid with people, fat with profit in uranium and thorium; it was time that the Family split up. At least a third of the families had the same need to trade wealth for living room; fraki shipbrokers were rubbing their hands, mentally figuring commissions. Starships do not sell like cold drinks; shipbrokers and salesmen often live on dreams. But perhaps a hundred ships would be s
old in a few weeks.
Some would be new ships from the yards of Galactic Transport, Ltd., daughter corporation of civilization-wide Galactic Enterprises, or built by Space Engineers Corporation, or Hekate Ships, or Propulsion, Inc., or Hascomb & Sons—all giants in the trade. But there was cake for everyone. The broker who did not speak for a builder might have an exclusive on a second-hand ship, or a line to a rumor of a hint that the owners of a suitable ship might listen if the price was right—a man could make a fortune if he kept his eyes open and his ear to the ground. It was a time to by-pass mails and invest in expensive n-space messages; the feast would soon be over.
A family in need of space had two choices: either buy another ship, split and become two families, or a ship could join with another in purchasing a third, to be staffed from each. Twinning gave much status. It was proof that the family which managed it were master traders, able to give their kids a start in the world without help. But in practice the choice usually dwindled to one: join with another ship and split the expense, and even then it was often necessary to pledge all three ships against a mortgage on the new one.
It had been thirty years since Sisu had split up. She had had three decades of prosperity; she should have been able to twin. But ten years ago at the last Great Gathering Grandmother had caused Sisu to guarantee along with parent ships the mortgage against a ship newly born. The new ship gave a banquet honoring Sisu, then jumped off into dark and never came back. Space is vast. Remember her name at Gathering.
The result was that Sisu paid off one-third of forty percent of the cost of the lost ship; the blow hurt. The parent ships would reimburse Sisu—debts are always paid—but they had left the last Gathering lean from having spawned; coughing up each its own liability had left them skin and bones. You don't dun a sick man; you wait.
Grandmother had not been stupid. The parent ships, Caesar Augustus and Dupont, were related to Sisu; one takes care of one's own. Besides, it was good business; a trader unwilling to lend credit will discover that he has none. As it was, Sisu could write a draft on any Free Trader anywhere and be certain that it would be honored.
But it left Sisu with less cash than otherwise at a time when the Family should split.
Captain Krausa hit dirt the first day and went to the Commodore's Flag, Norbert Wiener. His wife stayed aboard but was not idle; since her succession to Chief Officer, she hardly slept. Today she worked at her desk, stopping for face-to-face talks with other chief officers via the phone exchange set up by city services for the Gathering. When her lunch was fetched, she motioned to put it down; it was still untouched when her husband returned. He came in and sat down wearily. She was reading a slide rule and checked her answer on a calculator before she spoke. "Based on a Hascomb F-two ship, the mortgage would run just over fifty percent."
"Rhoda, you know Sisu can't finance a ship unassisted."
"Don't be hasty, dear. Both Gus and Dupont would co-sign . . . in their case, it's the same as cash."
"If their credit will stretch."
"And New Hansea would jump at it—under the circumstances—and—"
"Rhoda! You were young, two Gatherings ago, but you are aware that the debt lies equally on all . . . not just Hansea. That was unanimous."
"I was old enough to be your wife, Fjalar. Don't read the Laws to me. But New Hansea would jump at the chance . . . under a secrecy taboo binding till the end of time. Nevertheless the carrying charges would eat too much. Did you get to see a Galactic Lambda?"
"I don't need to; I've seen the specs. No legs."
"You men! I wouldn't call eighty gravities 'no legs.' "
"You would if you had to sit in the worry seat. Lambda class were designed for slow freight inside the Hegemonic sphere; that's all they're good for."
"You're too conservative, Fjalar."
"And I'll continue to be where safety of a ship is concerned."
"No doubt. And I'll have to find solutions that fit your prejudices. However, Lambda class is just a possibility. There is also you-know-which. She'll go cheap."
He frowned. "An unlucky ship."
"It will take powerful cleansing to get those bad thoughts out. But think of the price."
"It's more than bad thoughts in you-know-which-ship. I never heard of a chief officer suiciding before. Or a captain going crazy. I'm surprised they got here."
"So am I. But she's here and she'll be up for sale. And any ship can be cleansed."
"I wonder."
"Don't be superstitious, dear. It's a matter of enough care with the rituals, which is my worry. However, you can forget the you-know-which-one. I think we'll split with another ship."
"I thought you were set on doing it alone?"
"I've merely been exploring our strength. But there are things more important than setting up a new ship single-handed."
"There certainly are! Power, a good weapons system, working capital, blooded officers in key spots—why, we can't man two ships. Take firecontrolmen alone. If—"
"Stop fretting. We could handle those. Fjalar, how would you like to be Deputy Commodore?"
He braked at full power. "Rhoda! Are you feverish?"
"No."
"There are dozens of skippers more likely to be tapped. I'll never be Commodore—and what's more, I don't want it."
"I may settle for Reserve Deputy, since Commodore Denbo intends to resign after the new deputy is elected. Never mind; you will be Commodore at the next Gathering."
"Preposterous!"
"Why are men so impractical? Fjalar, all you think about is your control room and business. If I hadn't kept pushing, you would never have reached deputy captain."
"Have you ever gone hungry?"
"I'm not complaining, dear. It was a great day for me when I was adopted by Sisu. But listen. We have favors coming from many sources, not just Gus and Dupont. Whatever ship we join with will help. I intend to leave the matter open until after election—and I've had tentative offers all morning, strong ships, well connected. And finally, there's New Hansea."
"What about New Hansea?"
"Timed properly, with the Hanseatics proposing your name, you'll be elected by acclamation."
"Rhoda!"
"You won't have to touch it. And neither will Thorby. You two will simply appear in public and be your charming, male, non-political selves. I'll handle it. By the way, it's too late to pull Loeen out of the play but I'm going to break that up fast. Your Mother did not see the whole picture. I want my sons married—but it is essential that Thorby not be married, nor paired off, until after the election. Now . . . did you go to the flagship?"
"Certainly."
"What ship was he born in? It could be important."
Krausa gave a sigh. "Thorby was not born of the People."
"What? Nonsense! You mean that identification is not certain. Mmm . . . which missing ships are possibilities?"
"I said he was not of the People! There is not a ship missing, nor a child missing from a ship, which can be matched with his case. He would have to be much older, or much younger, than he is."
She shook her head. "I don't believe it."
"You mean you don't want to!"
"I don't believe it. He's People. You can tell it in his walk, his manner, his good mind, everything about him. Hmm . . . I'll look at the files myself."
"Go ahead. Since you don't believe me."
"Now, Fjalar, I didn't say—"
"Oh, yes, you did. If I told you it was raining dirt-side, and you didn't want rain, you—"
"Please, dear! You know it never rains this time of year on Hekate. I was just—"
"Sky around us!"
"There's no need to lose your temper. It doesn't become a captain."
"It doesn't become a captain to have his word doubted in his own ship, either!"
"I'm sorry, Fjalar." She went on quietly, "It won't hurt to look. If I widened the search, or looked through unfiled material—you know how clerks are with dead-file data. Mmm . . .
it would help if I knew who Thorby's parents were—before election. While I shan't permit him to marry before then, I might line up important support if it was assumed that immediately after, a wedding could be expec—"
"Rhoda."
"What, dear? The entire Vega group could be swayed, if a presumption could be established about Thorby's birth . . . if an eligible daughter of theirs—"
"Rhoda!"
"I was talking, dear."
"For a moment, I'll talk. The Captain. Wife, he's fraki blood. Furthermore, Baslim knew it . . . and laid a strict injunction on me to help him find his family. I had hoped—yes, and believed—that the files would show that Baslim was mistaken." He frowned and chewed his lip. "A Hegemonic cruiser is due here in two weeks. That ought to give you time to assure yourself that I can search files as well as any clerk."
"What do you mean?"
"Is there doubt? Debts are always paid . . . and there is one more payment due."
She stared. "Husband, are you out of your mind?"
"I don't like it any better than you do. He's not only a fine boy; he's the most brilliant tracker we've ever had."
"Trackers!" she said bitterly. "Who cares about that? Fjalar, if you think that I will permit one of my sons to be turned over to fraki—" She choked up.
"He is fraki."
"He is not. He is Sisu, just as I am. I was adopted, so was he. We are both Sisu, we will always be."
"Have it your way. I hope he will always be Sisu in his heart. But the last payment must be made."
"That debt was paid in full, long ago!"
"The ledger doesn't show it."
"Nonsense! Baslim wanted the boy returned to his family. Some fraki family—if fraki have families. So we gave him a family—our own, clan and sept. Is that not better payment than some flea-bitten fraki litter? Or do you think so little of Sisu?"
She glared up at him, and the Krausa thought bitterly that there must be something to the belief that the pure blood of the People produced better brains. In dickering with fraki he never lost his temper. But Mother—and now Rhoda—could always put him in the wrong.
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